Awestruck
by QuellefabIake
Summary: Submissive-less and responsibility-resistant Rachel Berry may just be the laziest dominant in existence but when life leads her to the path of "squat sub" Quinn Fabray, she finds herself suddenly engrossed in filling a responsibility that's not even hers. AU. D/S Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! Magandang araw (Good day)! Say hello to my new story. I know some of you had been hoping to read updates on my other ones but please give this story a chance. I'm kind of excited for my outline and all of my plans for this. Hehe. This takes place in a D/S society.**

**But first, a few things: Readers of my previous stories know by now that I can be really, really cruel to my characters, especially Quinn. She's a favorite and I'm one of those authors who like to put their fave characters in extremely trying situations. This fic is no exception – it deals with abuse, non-con, torture and such – so this serves as a warning for those who are sensitive to this kind of topics or have triggers.**

**This is an AU world so my characters – including Faberry – are OOC. Rachel's background would be different from canon (same with Quinn's).**

**And I want to say thank you to those who do not tire of supporting my other stories and take the effort to read and review. I'm really trying so, so hard to update as fast as I can but I work a taxing job 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, the shit called writer's block happens and there's so much more going on with my life so please bear with me. I said I will finish NLYD and my other stories and I will, no matter how long they'll take. I hope you'd stick with me 'til the end. ****J**

**I'm past 5,000 words for NLYD Chapter 12 but I really am having a bad case of writer's block. NLYD is kind of a bitch to write, 'cause it's very emotionally draining and all that shit so I figured I have to work on other things to get back on track. My muse is not cooperating per se, and I'm still trying to woe it to do so. I will try very hard to give you another NLYD chap within the next two weeks. Breathe is 100 times shorter and easier to write so I might be able to just finish it all in one sitting when my muse decides to stop being a pain in the #ss.**

**So, off with the rant and on with the story. This chap is quite short – just there to introduce things – but the next ones will be longer.**

**Chapter 1**

/

Awestruck.

A word which, as it suggests by itself, means struck by awe.

It's one of Rachel Berry's favorite words because it's simple; it fits what it defines. And Rachel is a fan of simple, non-complicated things.

It's also her favorite feeling – the one she's having right at this very moment as she gapes wordlessly at the façade of this rented place she'll be calling home in the next few months – or years, if life here somehow turns out alright for her.

Sure, her little to-be haven is nothing compared to the three-storey mansion right next to it, but it's one of the best places Rachel will be in, of that she's fairly certain.

Clearly, she has underestimated her fathers' taste. At first she has been hugely pessimistic of Leroy and Hiram claiming that the place they found for Rachel in Lima, New York is inexpensive but beautiful because she didn't believe the two words can simultaneously describe something.

(It's her fathers who had looked for her staying place because Rachel has spewed every excuse she can think of to make herself seem busy so she won't be obliged to look for a new place to stay herself.)

And this has, so far, overshot every single thing in her list of expectations. The first floor is mostly made of transparent glass – same with the three-floor mansion beside it – but Rachel can't see anything from the inside because everything is covered by what seem to be floor-to-ceiling curtains of white and gold – a huge bonus because they are Rachel's favorite colors.

The second floor is mostly glass too, and a small balcony is placed right in the middle, on top of the main door below.

Inside though, things are even better. Her smile widens until it evolves to shameless giggling as she leaves her two large suitcases at the doorway and attacks the silver sofa with gold linings right in the middle of the mini-living room.

She truly wonders how such a beautiful place can be sold for a really low price, but she really doesn't want to complain, and she has no plans to.

(Besides, complaining would entail a lot of effort and responsibility, and those are the very same things she avoids like the plague.)

The promise of her new home distracts her from the straight-from-the-train eerie feeling that seems to be telling her to stay in this town and leave at the same time.

From the quiet town of Lima, Ohio, Rachel is now staying in the equally quiet town of Lima, New York. Rachel has secretly dreamed to be a superstar, and she believes she has the talent to be one, but she has also resigned to the fact that it's not going to happen.

She's admittedly too lazy to function and the hard work it entailed for previous superstars to get where they are now is making Rachel dizzy. If she's going to be famous, it has to be because of sheer dumb luck and not hard work. And that doesn't happen all the time so she's kind of screwed.

She has taken her friend Brittany's offer to be a talent in a local radio show because this is the only job offer she has now that actually coincides with what she wants in life. If she can't be a superstar, at least she can be a radio actress. That's more than some aspirants will ever be.

(Also it's the one that screams the least responsibility.)

Lima is one of the smaller and less popular places in New York City, but this is a start and everyone has to start somewhere. Or so she tells herself, forcing herself to be determined, even if she isn't sure about what to do with her life anymore.

She spends the next few hours unpacking her things – the guitar her creepy ex-suitor Sam has given, a huge stack of lyric sheets, a few photos with her fathers and high school buddies, Brittany and Santana and her best friend, Tina.

She lets out a fond smile as she stares at a framed picture of her and Tina. They're inside the Glee room, and Tina's trying to rouse a sleeping Rachel using a hula-hoop. Mike was definitely taking the photo.

As crazy and moody as her friend can be, Rachel is genuinely happy that she has been introduced to Tina Cohen-Chang sometime in her life. Her Asian – as what she fondly calls her – is one of those incredibly underrated and underappreciated people. Tina barely had friends in high school for being an introvert, but when given the chance, she is actually the type of friend everyone in the world needs. She's silent most of the time but she's passionate, caring and supportive. She's cheerful, listens more than she talks – and when she does, the words she gives are the very same ones one would need at a certain time.

That is why even if they have completely different views about finding their soulmates and settling down, Rachel will never replace her for any friend in the world.

Her best friend has this eagerness to find her dominant even at a very young age. Since the third grade, Tina, whose cute little eyes would grow wide every time she talks about how one day the name of her dominant would be tattooed on her wrist, has always been unceasingly vocal about how she sees her life as a sub one day.

And she has found Mike in High School – the humble stud with the highest GPA and best dance moves in their batch. The two Asians started as rivals in their seventh year at William McKinley High School, but ended up falling with each other somewhere between their denial and playful banters. So when Mike's name appeared on Tina's left wrist one spring day, none of the girls were surprised and both were ecstatic.

At 23, Rachel, on the other hand, cannot for the life of her imagine herself being with or taking care of a submissive. Of the many things she is pessimistic about, this topic goes at the top of her list. It sounds like too much of a responsibility, and if there's one thing she hates more than animal cruelty, that's it.

She has gotten her dominant sign on her right wrist when she was six, but the name of her soulmate has never been inked on her left since then – a thing Rachel doesn't mind for the meantime.

She can't be a dominant yet, not only because she does not want to, but also because she knows she can't. Usually, the names appear between ages 15-20. There are some that come out between 20 and 22, and then very rarely after that.

There are several reasons for the delay of the sprouting of names: it's either a person's not ready for the bondage yet, or his/her soulmate has been stolen from him/her. Rachel's 99.7 percent sure her case was of the first and frankly, she couldn't be thankful that such condition exists.

If she wants to take care of a submissive, then she must be able to learn how to take care of a submissive. Frankly, Rachel isn't even good at taking care of herself. Having a submissive sounds too much of a responsibility. Besides, Rachel wants to focus on fixing and stabling her life first because she can help others.

Groaning as she tries to get herself to think of other things than her not-so-sure future, she begrudgingly stands up to check the rest of her awesome house.

/

Everything seemed fine – better than fine, even, because the house is truly beautiful – until she went out to see the little space between her new home and the three-storey mansion a few minutes later.

The not-so-normal feeling comes when the hairs at the back of her neck rise and her spine tingles while she's weirdly checking the soil.

The feeling that she's being watched from the mansion is so distinct – so overwhelming that she turns her head fast to one of the windows on the mansion's second floor. She doesn't remember feeling such strong sense of foreboding before, and it confuses her. She sees nobody watching, but the curtain on one of the windows is swaying.

Rachel's brows furrow. Of course, it's normal for a new neighbor to be secretly watching the new next-door-neighbor, but the tingling of her spine when she felt that person watching was of another level.

She fights off a shiver as she tries hard to shrug it off. Despite her obvious love for this house, she can't be certain of how to feel about the place as a whole yet. Though she is yet to explore the town, she can't seem to shake that eerie feeling that's pulling her in and pushing her away at the same time.

Maybe being in new places naturally gives people this effect, but Rachel is certain she has never felt this way in any other place before.

/

Rachel has been able to keep herself at bay for most of the day. And it makes her a little bit proud of herself.

Only when she lays on her bed that night, alone, does nostalgia hit here like a boss and she starts to truly feel the loneliness of being in a whole new place. Her bedroom was one of the best places in the house – but it's not her room – and it doesn't feel like yet. The anxiousness and excitement of the new day and of actually loving her new place vanishes as soon as she realizes that she's truly alone to take care of and fend for herself now.

Suddenly, despite her weak mental objection, memories of home fill her senses – she can almost take in the smell of her room and of her fathers' perfume. She realizes she will have to wait for a long while to get to smell them again. She has never really appreciated her fathers unconditional love until now that they're no longer just at the room next door.

Tears fall down from her eyes and her chest tightens. She feels like such a sissy, but she can't seem to stop her tears. Nobody can see anyway, so she has nothing to be ashamed of. She has been brave when she left home but she doesn't really think she can do this. While she has stayed in an orphanage until she was six, she has been treated like a princess by Daddy Leroy and Papa Hiram. They had cooked for her and did laundry for her all her life and she let them because she really didn't want to do those things herself.

Damn it. She's trying to be a responsible adult, and crying is out of the menu. First night out of the house and she's getting homesick as f*ck. She needs to get herself together. If she can barely stand one night away from her comfort zone, then she is not getting somewhere in life.

It takes her at least two hours to stop crying and be exhausted enough to actually want to fall asleep.

She does so to the comforting humming of the wind and the steady tick tock of the nearby clock. And to the thoughts of her fathers and their not-so-awful cooking, and of Tina, Santana and Brittany's voices.

Oh, how Rachel Berry loves the peace nighttime offers. And when all's tranquil and quiet, it'd be cool to just lie down and not do a single thing.

She hates distraction or irregularity because then there'd be something that would need fixing.

She can only hope that things wouldn't get too eventful while she's here.

/

Her first morning, on the other hand, is everything but uneventful.

She wakes up to loud, undiscernible yelling from the outside. Undiscernible, mostly because it's 6 o'clock in the morning and Rachel only bows down to her alarm clock, which she set at 8 a.m. today, as basis for when the day should start being discernible for her. Everything before that time is automatically alien.

(Three nights ago, she promised herself that she is waking 6 a.m. starting the next but she has balked to the idea ten hours after. The bed was designed to be so inviting).

The noise continues though, so, with brows crunching in confusion and annoyance – but mostly annoyance – she forces herself off of the bed. She has not allowed herself the liberty to wake up three hours after her usual call time today to have some idiot ruin it for her. She'll be starting to work on Monday, and one of her last two days of freedom from responsibility and of waking up late is ruined.

Freaking great.

She blindly hurries to the bathroom, knocking something along the way, to at least have a quick meet-up with at least the mouthwash (in case of emergencies) before she checks what's going on outside and see if there's anyone she has to take effort to kill.

But, the sight that meets her when she glances out the window only makes her heart pound in the bad way and her eyes widen.

On the neighbor's front lawn, a disgusting scene has been unfolding. To say Rachel is appalled would be a gross understatement.

A diminutive, curly-haired, douchebag-seeming dominant is yelling derogatory words to what seems to be his submissive as he drags her forcefully from the gate to the main door. On his right hand is a long whip.

Behind him, the thin, willowy woman is struggling to keep up with his strides and miserably failing, tripping from time to time. A black neck collar is binding them – and the man is pulling at it quite forcefully, much to the girl's discomfort. Rachel can't see much from this angle, but she can tell that the woman – blonde – isn't wearing slippers and is cradling her side like she's in severe pain.

And she must be, if the bruises Rachel can see marring her arms are any clue.

The small brunette sees red, as all thoughts of annoyance is replaced by anger. The girl is being abused, to put it bluntly, and it's something Rachel isn't going to take lightly. While quite notorious for being lazy, Rachel is also famous for being an overzealous advocate of human and animal rights.

Sure the girl's obviously _his_ submissive – his _pet_, his _slave_ or whatever word he'd like to use himself – but that doesn't give him the liberty to treat her less than he does a human being. Her present predicament seems to strike a cord deep within the confines of Rachel's chest, and the last thing on her mind is how big of a responsibility getting involved in their situation would be.

All she knows is that she feels so much need to stop them that it's painful. She needs to help the girl and she can feel that in her guts. Pronto.

She isn't going to be scared of that monkey because slaves have rights that keep them protected and she'll be damned if that blonde girl wouldn't get her share of that right.

/

Rachel is powerwalking down the hall, more than ready to give that curly-haired idiot a piece of her mind when she suddenly feels her arms being grabbed from both sides, then herself being not-so-gently and efficiently turned to the opposite direction.

What the-?

"A hot cup of coffee with the new nosy neighbor would be fine," said one of them in an accented voice. Rachel – through her struggling – glances at the owner of the voice – a tanned not-so-American-looking woman who's taller than her by at least four inches. To her right, a taller, paler woman is keeping her still.

"What the fuck! Put me down," she hisses at the both of them. "I have a mission and this is fucking kidnapping!"

Both women ignore her as they continue to drag her away from the mansion.

"What the hell are you doing," she demands further, trying harder to let loose from the tight grip but failing. These two are at least four inches taller than her and apparently have arms like iron. Are they the curly dumbass' minions? "I'm not kidding! Let me go!"

"We're just keeping a safe distance between you and imminent death, dumby," the tanned shorter brunette answers. "Stop struggling and just go with us. You obviously need an orientation of how things go around here."

They're true. She doesn't. She has been too lazy to care about the background of the new place she'll be moving to, but she doesn't care about that right now. There's a giant elephant in the room that demands to be talked about.

"But he's hurting her! You saw how he treats her? You heartless bitches, let me go!"

They both seem unaffected by the bitch comment – or at least that's what they want Rachel to think.

"All of us would regret it more if we let you do what you're about to do so please, for the sake of Jesus Christ the Son of Man, let us tell you some of the most important things about this place first before we allow you to set foot on the battlefield," said the tanned lady once more. She seems to be the more vocally brutal of the two.

They just may have a point, so Rachel begrudgingly relents. She decides that her best course of action for now is to listen to them.

As she is being dragged away, she glances back at the idiot of a dominant and his submissive. He's just slapped her hard – and Rachel's breathe hitches as the girl falls on her knees once again. Both seem to not mind Rachel and the two clowns who's dragging her away, or the tall woman from the other street who pretended to not have seen the abuse that's happening right at her nose as she continues to jog.

As she is being dragged away, Rachel manages to notice some things that don't seem right: One of them was how Quinn's submissive and Jesse's dominant tags are placed at the back of their right hands and not on the wrist as what's usual.

The second and more disturbing thing is how everybody seems to see the obvious abuse at the house but doesn't do anything about it.

She's awestruck.

And right now, she doesn't think it's still her favorite word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi all.**

**I see many of you were curious about the two girls who dragged Rachel away. Yeah, they're not from Glee, but they're not OCs either because I, like, borrowed them from a Brazilian TV show (Please notify me if I'm violating something). It's actually a gift for my good and totally awesome Fanfiction and Twitter friend, ****_Izabella G.D _****who also happens to be one of my fave writers here****_. _****Thank you for everything, Sweetie Pie.**

**Thanks to everyone who followed and favorited. You are all awesome.**

**So here's Chapter 2. Enjoy!**

**Warning: Abuse**

/

Chapter 2

"Please sit down and feel at your own backyard or something," the smaller and paler brunette instructs Rachel once they enter the gate of the house on the other side of Rachel's. One of the two evil strangers (at least in her eyes) pointed towards a small outdoor roundtable set in the far left corner of the backyard. Rachel stares at the both of them suspiciously before walking towards it and taking one of the green, metallic chairs with caution. The other girls take the seats opposite her.

Not caring that she's the new one in this_ wonderful _neighborhood, Rachel's challenging stare never wavers. She doesn't understand for the life of her why they would stop her from doing the only thing that's right to do during that moment.

That dumbass could be out there seriously injuring the girl right now and these two think they have some time for a chit-chat? These idiots are crazy, and that's coming from a girl who instinctually walked out of her house with her hair uncombed and in nothing but a purple-and-yellow, over-sized carousel-themed pajamas.

"Rachel Berry, right?" the tall, tan one says coolly, and Rachel gathers all of her willpower not to let her eyebrows rise five meters higher.

She doesn't remember conversing with anyone yesterday so how the hell they did know her name?

The brunette gets this sudden impulse to walk away and check if she locked the door of her new home before she walked out. She regrets not researching about this town now more than ever. But she stops herself from freaking out like a total psycho and linked her hands tightly instead as she tries to act rationally.

"Based on your reaction, I'd say we got the name right," the pale one says with a self-satisfied nod and upside-down smile. "Relax, Rachel With-A-Fruit-For-A-Surname. We asked about you from the house agent. I'm Marina, and this is my beautiful wife and awesome soulmate, Clara." She winks at the other girl, who gives her a "that's the best you can think of?" look.

Rachel takes a deep breath and nods, trying not to let her anger and apprehension show. She looks around for a while to distract herself from the anger, noticing the green outdoor walls and the obviously nature-inspired design of the house. Oddly, despite the awkward (at least for her) situation, she finds herself admiring everything. There's even an impressive-looking fountain in the center of the backyard.

Lima, New York is a town of beautiful homes but crazy people, she thinks. She wonders if these women own the house because they don't deserve it. "You both live here?"

Clara offers her a sweet smile that Rachel can't find the spirit to return. "You like it?"

Rachel does, so much, but she isn't about to tell them. She isn't giving them satisfaction for absolutely anything after they stopped her from helping the girl earlier.

"Does everybody here make a habit of answering questions by questions," she tells them instead. She's not the best person to talk to when annoyed and confused – an important point about her. "'Cause it's like everybody here has unusual habits, especially when it comes to helping those in need."

Marina's eyes get a sharper look and she motions to say something in retaliation – as obviously being the one with the shorter temper of the two – and Rachel isn't able to hold back a smirk when a hand on the shoulder from the other woman automatically makes Marina deflate.

Talk about smitten.

"To answer your question, yes, we both live here. We're both from Brazil, but Marina got a job in Pennsylvania about 8 years ago and here about two months ago. Bought this baby for a very good price," explains Clara.

Rachel nods, cautiously still, and it's then that she actually really looks at the two of them alternately – past her annoyance – and realizes that they're both gorgeous women with wise eyes and genuine disposition. She doesn't discount the possibility that they may do indeed have a valid reason for preventing Rachel from helping, but it's not going to make her feel any less bad about what happened earlier.

She could have done something.

Her face must have had shown the deep-wired frustration she feels because Clara's face soften.

"I'm sorry that we have to pull you away and stop you from doing what you think was the right thing to do, but Marina was serious when she said we were just saving your life," the taller of the duo says.

She says it in a genuinely sad voice but Rachel almost scoffs still. Yeah, save her life, let the other suffer.

"I want to say thank you if it doesn't scream unfair. You think my life is more important than that girl's because she isn't a dominant like I am? Is that how you think here," she says with a bitter tone in her otherwise lost voice.

Marina scoffs. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not more important than her. And we stopped you mostly for her sake, not yours. Not that I don't like you, either. I do a little bit because I like your surname." At this, Rachel rolls her eyes. "But it's not you who that idiot will beat up later if you didn't behave; it's her and I am more concerned about her than about you. You running over there like an idiot would have only make things worse for Quinn. Not save her."

Rachel mentally stores the name of the girl. Quinn. The hair at the back of her neck rises for some reason. It was an odd name for a girl but she likes it. "Why?"

"Quinn is a squat sub," Marina says in a beat, her tone challenging yet slightly sad – though concealed – at the same time.

Rachel takes a steadying breath, eyes widening slightly. She has encountered the word squat sub before but people of this type are almost extinct – supposed to be extinct, rather – and she never thought she'd actually get to meet one.

Squat subs are those who violated a supreme order of the D/S council, or are offsprings of parents who violated a supreme law. They are the lowest in the hierarchy of the submissive kind, and are seldom kept alive.

"Which means," Clara continues, a sad expression creeping up her face, "that her dominant can treat her whichever way he likes without fear of repercussion because she isn't protected by any law. Which further means you getting in between them wouldn't have had done anything but endanger her more."

"And before you judge her for being a squat, we gotta say we do not know Quinn's full story. I bet no one here does. She never talks to anyone, we suspect she's not allowed to, and we're not even sure if she can talk – but word is, her parents eloped even if both of them are submissives," she continues.

Rachel, who is slightly offended that their first thought was that she'd judge Quinn because that certainly is not the truth, has difficulty letting this all sink in but she tries. Bearing child with a fellow dominant or submissive – especially submissive – is the highest offense anyone in the land can commit. It's because they're depriving not one but two people of their soulmates.

"They we're immediately put to death after they were found. Quinn was just a baby then," continues Clara.

That gets Rachel more heartbroken, and confused at the same time. Quinn never even got to meet her parents. She can relate to that – and that sucks.

At school, they were told that squat subs are deemed unworthy of life and are killed shortly after they made the violation. For children who only became squats because they were born from erring, they are killed before they reach three years old or right after their parents are killed. Quinn – being allowed to live this long – is apparently a rare exemption.

"Why wasn't Quinn put to death? I mean, it's not that I wish for that to have happened instead but," she shrugs helplessly as a thousand emotions – helplessness, anger, confusion, pity – overwhelm her all at once, "Why?" The question came as a whisper.

Clara shrugs. "It was that idiot Ryan St. James' decision to let her live and have her become his son's submissive. It seemed like he really wanted the girl to suffer for his own personal sick reasons."

That renders Rachel surprised again. The idiot Ryan Murphy St. James Marina's talking about – actually called Prime Councilor St. James – is the Principal Dominant of Ohio, the highest man of the D/S council of rulers. A state's Principal Dominant is practically the most powerful man in the land and everyone – even politicians – bow down to them and bend to their will.

The St. James clan has been Ohio's Principal Dominant Family since the beginning of time and Ryan is the present Principal Dominant. Principal dominance is being passed by blood.

Clara smiles sadly before continuing. "Quinn's dominant – Jesse – is Ryan's only child. He is the next in line for Prime Councilor. He is as powerful as his father as long as he stays on his good side, Rachel. And as far as we're told, they're tight as fuck because Jesse's grown up to be just like him. That made the idiot proud. So we "peasants" really can't just go in there and "save" his law-unprotected submissive from him."

Rachel has never felt this helpless and angry at the same time before. So the lowest of all submissives is here, tied to the second most powerful man in the land, who happens to be a douchebag and abuses her on a daily basis. It's hard to accept. It's the kind of fate she wouldn't wish on her worst enemies. Not even Santana.

(Or probably just Santana).

"People here are not as heartless as you think," Marina says bitterly, making Rachel almost feel bad for calling them heartless earlier. "So many have tried. Every single one of those who lived in that house before you have tried. They failed. They didn't stay. All of them. They left when they can no longer stomach the cruelty they know is happening just next door."

"Marina and I have tried to help her, too, multiple times. We're one of those who naively thought we can play hero for Quinn, too." Clara pauses, letting out a defeated laugh. "But to make a long story short, Marina almost got arrested when she got caught trying to sneak to their house once. We had to beg Jesse not to go through with having her jailed. We would have tried harder if not for our little Ivan. And he beat Quinn up badly after that to make a point, so we begrudgingly agreed to never meddle with their lives again."

"People here learned to do nothing. They don't talk about it much either. We're told that it's been like that for years. It's awful, but as what people here like tell each other silently, Quinn seems to have gotten used to that life," said Marina.

She's trying to sound as unattached as she can – which is saying a lot – but Rachel can sense the guilt and bitterness in her voice still. Rachel can tell that the two of them badly wants to help Quinn, but there's just so many things that's stopping them.

Rachel decides she hates this town after all. F*ck the house.

/

Rachel staring off into space is not an unusual thing, especially when she's feeling as disturbed as she is today. That is why anyone who would see her blankly staring at the mansion while she's seated next to a window from her room should not be surprised.

Tina would always tease her about this "weird" habit all the time, even if her Asian is quite famous for it herself.

Even in daydreaming, she and her best friend are really different. When Rachel daydreams, she thinks about being a superstar without doing any effort at all. Or anything that's totally worthless that she'd forget about what she'd been daydreaming after she does. On one hand, when Tina does, her daydreams would always be about her dominant and the "beauty and perfection of bondage."

The brunette with smaller eyes would always pester Rachel about the wonderful feelings involved in finding your "one": how the first look into your soulmate's eyes after the bond is sealed would give you every emotion you can think of – and even some that you can't – and you'll be so overwhelmed that you'd start crying without realizing it. Or how your heart would skip a beat and your insides would scream so loud yet silently because you feel so much at the same time.

But Rachel isn't as eager as Tina when it comes to these things for now. And probably she wouldn't be in the next few months, especially that she finds herself inexplicably drawn to Quinn and just wanting to help her so much right now.

She doesn't know why but knowing Quinn lived and still lives that way is making her sad, no sorrowful, in a way that not even the worst of bullies made her feel before. Her chest has been feeling tight since this morning, her steps had been heavier and she doesn't think she still blames her innate laziness for all of these at all.

Her conversation with Clara and Marina had been short. They did not know much about Quinn's or Jesse's backgrounds. Why their marks are at the back of their hands are a mystery for the admittedly hot Brazilians as well. They're new in town, too, the townsfolk apparently avoid the topic like plague, and out of the principal families in America, the St. James are probably the most private, secretive and non-privy to the media. She bets not a lot of people know how Jesse St. Douchebag looks like, even.

Maybe she can just ask Tina and Mike later about what the misplaced marks mean. They're the intellectual ones, after all. They're at work at this time, and Rachel doesn't think she can communicate well with anyone at this point in time, either.

She sighs as she stares at the mansion again. The houses are divided by a low white fence, with gaps in-between the woods that are wide enough for one to see everything on the other lawn from either side clearly. She wonders how she can help Quinn without getting arrested, or killed, or without getting Quinn in danger.

Anything would do. It never occurred to her that she'd someday think this way but now, she'd accept being a Prime Councilor even if it screams so much responsibility if that means she can save Quinn.

Because, for the first time in a long while, finding the time to do nothing is the last thing in Rachel's mind. All she can think about since this morning is Quinn, who was obviously hurt, always been hurt, and in need of massive help. Her help. Anyone's help, really. And there's a very slim chance that she's getting that in her grim situation until somebody really makes that firm stand.

Her thoughts are interrupted and her eyes widen when she sees the backdoor of the mansion start to open. She instinctually jumps out of her chair like some dog whose just seen meat after not being fed for weeks. Clara, who Rachel thinks she likes way more than Marina this early, said Jesse and Quinn do not have house helps so who's coming out can only be one of them.

Most probably it's Jesse, and Rachel feels her blood boil faster than she can think of anything else. Just the thought of him and all he's doing to Quinn gives Rachel so much unexplainable anger right now, even if she has only came to know him – and Quinn in extension – a few hours ago. It's the kind of anger she can't place or explain. An anger she doesn't think she's had before – that's greater than the one she feels against her biological parents who she doesn't know until now because they abandoned her like some disposable object in an institution. There's just too much unexplained rage within her as far as Jesse is concerned. She feels like it's herself that the douchebag's been hurting all along and not Quinn. She wonders how she can stop herself from hurling her fists towards that bastard if it turns out he's the one coming out of that door right now.

She tightens her fists in preparation for that, only for her to gradually loosen them again when instead of the epically douchebag St. Jackass, it's a really pale Quinn that comes hobbling out of the door. She's struggling to carry a huge filled-to-the-brim black garbage bag as she, with much difficulty, limps her way to a huge garbage drum near the fence.

Rachel can only watch, unsure of what to do and chest slightly heaving, as the heavily-bruised blonde slowly and painstakingly does an otherwise easy task. Still, Rachel is immediately astounded by how breathtaking Quinn is – even with her face marred by bruises and cuts and even when she's from afar. Rachel feels her breath hitch and she freezes from her spot, finding herself admiring Quinn deeply despite their present predicament.

Quinn's biting her lip, though, and obviously favoring her side still, breathing heavily and wincing as she takes every painful step. Rachel doesn't know if approaching the girl would only freak her out and drive her away so she decides to stay where she is and observe things first. That _gentleman_ – who has the audacity to let a beaten up girl do a few tasks – could be watching as well, and Rachel doesn't want her chances to help Quinn be ruined this early.

Watching the blonde hurting so much hurts so much as well though – that it's actually affecting her physically too – and all Rachel can think of, as she claws at her chest and gathers all the will she can muster to stay where she is, is that Jesse St. James is really a son of a bitch.

The brunette just continues to observe the blonde, still resisting the greater than great urge to just march up the lawn and take her away from that douchebag who doesn't deserve her. Or any of the things he has right now.

After what seemed like eternity, Quinn finally gets to the trash can, where she manages to throw the bag away a little sloppily. The effort of doing so obviously takes too much from her, though, and Rachel feels her own features twist in hurt and anger as Quinn leans heavily on the trash can – one hand holding the edge of the can and the other on her side – to rest for a while.

Rachel remains frozen on the spot, watching Quinn delicately and like an utter idiot. It is then that – much to Rachel's horror – Quinn must have had felt herself being stared at because her head suddenly whips to where the now stricken brunette stands. Quinn's empty eyes – which Rachel can tell are pitch black in color even from a distance – widen when she realizes that she was being watched all along.

And despite all the unexplained emotions that suddenly envelope Rachel when she gets a glimpse of Quinn's sorrowful eyes, she gets that overwhelming want to beat herself up when Quinn's surprised and pained expression morphs to that of utter worry and horror.

The blonde, whose chest starts heaving in fear now, glances swiftly at a spot at the mansion's second floor, as if checking for something. The fear in her face lessens a little when she sees that no third figure is watching the scene unfold below, but she still pushes herself off the garbage can and struggles to bring herself to walk towards the house as fast as she can, clutching her side all the while.

Rachel pulls at her hair in frustration – cursing herself for her stupid carelessness – and it takes absolutely everything in her power not to follow Quinn to tell her that everything's fine and that she's safe because Rachel's not going to tell Jesse anything, like what her conscience is urging her to do right now.

And Rachel manages – barely – to stop herself from going after the blonde.

Or so she does, until she sees Quinn fall a few meters before she reaches the staircases of the backdoor, letting out a pained cry and clutching at her side harder as the impact of her body hitting the ground serves nothing but injure her further.

Rachel doesn't even remember how she exactly did it but in no time she has run down the stairs, got to her yard, climbed the picket fence dividing both houses and was making her way to help Quinn, who's shaking, clutching her side and coughing weakly from where she lays.

She makes it in a few large strides and is about to kneel down next to the fallen girl to check on her when a gruff voice stops her midway.

"Hey! Don't touch her," Jesse St. James warns loudly, storming out from the back door. He makes his way to the two of them in a way that Rachel thinks is comparable only to a typhoon. "You'll freak her out," he adds.

Jesse's wearing a perfume – a really strong one, as if he really wants his presence to be felt in any way – and the hairs on Rachel's arms actually rise at his domineering presence.

"How the hell did you even get in?" He further asks Rachel, bitingly and sans sparing her a glance because his full attention as of the meantime is on Quinn, who's now wheezing badly and silently tearing up in pain.

Rachel looks at Jesse, an awestruck expression on her face as she glances in slow-motion at the fence she just miraculously hurdled then back at the big "D". It's only now that she feels the slight stinging on her knee, which she must have had wounded somewhere between her intense desire to get to Quinn. All words seemed to have escaped her, lost between all the anger and intimidation she feels for Jesse and the utter worry she has for Quinn.

Jesse kneels down next to his submissive and lets out a silent curse when Quinn lets out terrible-sounding coughs, followed by pained moans. Rachel swears she feels her heart stop and her entire body grow cold when she notices that Quinn has just coughed up blood.

Lots of it.

"Damn it, Quinn," Jesse mutters, teeth clenched, and if not for Quinn needing more attention for now, Rachel must have had punched him. "I think you punctured something again," he adds, obviously annoyed, as if it's Quinn's fault that she's in this situation.

Her heart thumps in fear over Jesse's theory. That seemed terrible, she thinks. Rachel does not even remember not having answered Jesse's earlier question until the curly-haired idiot gives her an exasperated and insulting glare that seems to penetrate her whole being. "Nevermind. You can go now 'cause I got it from here. Mind your own business next time," he says, before concentrating on Quinn again, who's now starting to drift in and out of consciousness. "Help's coming, Quinn. Don't worry."

Jesse whips out his phone, calls somebody named David and quickly mutters something about car and oxygen. He then turns the phone off and proceeds to check on Quinn again, but still refrains from touching her.

"Quinn, babe, open your eyes for me," Jesse asks, a lot more gently this time, and Rachel watches in trepidation as Quinn does her best to comply. But the blonde may be too tired and pained to open her eyes so she just shakes her head instead, sporting a terribly regretful look on her face.

"Hey now, it's OK, Quinn, you don't have to if you can't but don't ever sleep. And I forgive you for this, so hang on, baby, OK?"

What the actual fuck, Rachel thinks. How dare he say that? That is the sickest thing she has ever heard, making the anger Rachel feels multiply exponentially.

Quinn nods at Jesse's statement though, ever so weakly, and it's then that Jesse touches her in the cheek for the first time since her fall. Rachel almost feels like throwing up when Quinn seemingly accepts the comfort offered, sobbing weakly at the touch.

They stay that way for a while, until Jesse senses that Rachel hasn't left yet. He turns his head to the brunette, who's still worriedly gauging Quinn's condition, and glares at her.

He spats, "Are you deaf?"

And Rachel doesn't even think about thinking when she replies, "Are you a moron?"

Her eyes automatically widen at the surprise in her own words. Uh-oh. She swears that was her involuntary answering instinct against morons. Nothing more.

"What," Jesse hisses, eyes becoming but slits as he regards Rachel with more anger now.

"What," Rachel just says back, feigning ignorance.

The only-slightly-taller-than-her douchebag seems angry enough to hit her then and there but the sound of a whirring vehicle saves her. Jesse can't hurt her, of course, because she is a dominant that there are certain laws that protect her, but she still thanks all deities she can think of when Jesse's eyes are diverted to the newly-arrived black luxury car instead of her.

Rachel turns her head to the car as well. It stops outside Jesse's gate. A burly man gets out of it, carrying what looks like a small oxygen tank. He has his own key to the gate, which he opens expertly with one hand. He then runs to where the three of them are, not needing anymore instructions as he kneels next to Quinn and tries to make her wear the oxygen mask. Quinn weakly fights against it, seemingly terrified of another person's presence.

"Damn it, Quinn! It's OK," Jesse hisses, not too gently as his irritated mood persists. He's not even letting Quinn off the hook despite her condition. Rachel regrets having involuntary-muscled mouth disease. "That's David. I don't need you being stupid right now so cooperate," he said before turning once again to Rachel.

"This is David Quinn," the burly guy says, a lot more gentle than Jesse did. "It's OK. I just need you to wear this oxygen mask, please."

Rachel is actually impressed by how gentle the burly man can be. Quinn lets David help her with the oxygen, though she's a little bit shaken still. Jesse scoffs at them, before regarding Rachel again.

"The gate is open. Get the hell out of here before I or David makes you," he tells her, and despite her real and overwhelming want to skin him alive, Rachel decides not to fight back. Quinn needs to be given medical care as of now. Jesse can get his dues later. So with heavy heart, and one defeated look at Quinn, Rachel retreats.

She has just got out of the gate when she hears the ambulance's siren. She decides to stay outside her own gate and watch the scene unfold, making sure that Quinn is well attended to. It doesn't take long for the medical team to load the blonde, who seems to be unconscious at this point, to the ambulance. Jesse and David follow the ambulance with the car.

Rachel doesn't stop following the vehicles with her eyes until they are out of sight. He sighs when they're finally gone, hurt and guilt making her heart pound and Quinn's face and Clara's words echoing in her ears.

_"People here like to tell themselves that she's used to that life," she said._

However, just looking at Quinn earlier, makes Rachel know that she's wrong. They're wrong. They're all wrong.

Quinn did not get used to that life, because no one can. It's the people here who got used to seeing Quinn live it.

And Rachel will be damned if she lets this go on.


End file.
